


the signals that we send (electric confidence)

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Spin the Bottle, a lot of talk about sex and references to sex in this, anyway LMAO into the muke tag with a FUCKING splash, au where 5sos are nats fans because fuck the dodgers, but i can't in good faith tag that, but nothing explicit, in abundance, one scene in this also has some merrikat/rilex fun, so i think it can keep the T rating, there is christmas in this also, try to guess which parts of this i wrote whilst tired as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Luke’s face feels too warm, and his grip on Michael’s shirt is too tight, and Michael is too, too close, but also not close enough. And it’s been forever,agessince he’s been kissed. Luke misses kissing. It’s simple and stupid, but there it is.And here’s Michael, who’s his friend, and undeniably attractive, offering to kiss Luke. For free. As friends.-OR: five times Michael and Luke kissed for reasons that weren’t love, and the one time it was.
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	the signals that we send (electric confidence)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [formidablehedgehog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formidablehedgehog/gifts).



> it is the wonderful [iba's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formidablehedgehog) birthday, and i guess i decided to take advantage of that by writing FOURTEEN THOUSAND WORDS of a pairing i have never posted on ao3 before ~~excluding muke!gelphie which we do not count~~ so. uh. happy birthday iba? 
> 
> actually for serious: happy happy HAPPY birthday iba. i can't believe i get the privilege of knowing you in all your insanity. i think you are the only person in the club whose sleep schedule is genuinely worse than mine, but i like that we can commiserate about lack of sleep, and college stuff, and, like, ashton's hands and stuff. you make me laugh every day and you also unfailingly make me smile. you're incredibly kind and thoughtful, always wanting to be there for everyone, and it's so clear that your character is strong and your morals are powerful and i just have immense respect for you as a person and love for you as a friend. i love you so so so much and i hope i get to love you for many many many days more.
> 
> as for this fic: i thought maybe it would be special for me to write muke for you, since i know you love it and you know i don't love it. i have to say, though, that writing this fic really endeared me to them. i am sorry to say it does not have that much angst (i am NOT doing well distributing the angst fic lately lkdgmkdfgjsj) but it does have lots of kissing so i hope that makes up for it?? and it also has some cheeky all time low because i have absolutely zero self control whatsoever
> 
> so!!! that said. title is from drug by simple creatures (no self control part 2), and iba, i hope you enjoy this monstrosity of a fic <3 it is the very least you deserve
> 
> tw for alcohol BUT i do have an alcohol/drinking-free version of this so if that's a trigger for you but you still want to read it just let me know !! my tumblr's in the end notes

1.

Michael and Luke’s first kiss is not, as Luke might have guessed, during spin the bottle. In fact, it’s kind of amazing that their first kiss happens when it does, given how many times they’ve played spin the bottle with the band. There’d usually been another band involved (usually One Direction), and the bottle simply hadn’t been in favor of Luke kissing Michael.

(Later, Luke will take back calling it their first kiss. Michael won’t. _A first kiss should be romantic,_ Luke will argue. Michael will say, _yeah, but it still was our first,_ _technically, literally, it was_. But whatever. Michael can keep his wrong opinions.)

No, actually, the first time they kiss it’s in the dressing room just before a show, and Michael is leaning over Luke, one hand braced against the wall by Luke’s head, and Luke’s stomach is in knots, but he’s pretty sure that’s not because of the massive show they’re about to play.

“I didn’t mean you,” Luke says weakly.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Okay. But I still think we could help each other out.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” Michael says again. “Do you want to, though?”

“Want to what?”

“Whatever, man. Make out. Get off. It’s only weird if we make it weird. I promise you I won’t.”

Luke swallows. He really does want to do those things, actually. “I didn’t say I wanted to.”

A flicker of something crosses Michael’s face — insecurity, maybe. “Well, if you decide you do, I’m here. That’s all I’m saying.”

He leans away, and Luke grabs his shirtfront and pulls him back. “Give me a chance to think,” he says irritably. 

Michael’s gaze flits around Luke’s face, down to his lips, back up. “I was,” he says. “I was giving you space.”

Luke’s face feels too warm, and his grip on Michael’s shirt is too tight, and Michael is too, too close, but also not close enough. And it’s been forever, _ages_ since he’s been kissed. Luke misses kissing. It’s simple and stupid, but there it is. 

And here’s Michael, who’s his friend, and undeniably attractive, offering to kiss Luke. For free. As friends.

Michael watches Luke cautiously, so Luke leans in and presses a kiss to Michael’s lips, quickly enough that Michael doesn’t have time to reciprocate before Luke’s leaning away.

“Okay,” Luke says, and barely finishes saying it before Michael’s kissing Luke. This one is real; there’s no questioning this kiss, no room for debate. This one pins Luke to the wall and leaves him feeling dizzy, clutching at Michael for something to hold onto, even as Michael’s fingers tighten around Luke’s hips. It crosses Luke’s mind to mention that they’re in the dressing room, and just because Calum and Ashton aren’t here right now doesn’t mean they couldn’t come in at any moment, but the thought evaporates as soon as it comes, and when Michael finally breaks the kiss, all Luke can focus on is catching his breath. He has to _sing_ soon. Like a _lot._

“Jesus Christ,” Michael says lowly. Luke nods, although he’s pretty sure he’d nod to whatever Michael said right now. “To be continued.”

And Luke almost whines, because he doesn’t want this to have to be continued, he wants it _now,_ but Michael is, as is unfortunately often the case, right. They have a show soon. 

Besides, if this can be continued, maybe that means beyond just tonight. Maybe more than once. Maybe Michael will be around to kiss Luke whenever. Luke would be down with that. Kissing is nice, and he likes Michael, and as it turns out he really likes kissing Michael, so it makes sense.

“Yeah,” Luke says instead. It’s almost embarrassing how breathless he is. He’s far too easy these days. Michael grins, and all that remains of the hooded expression moments prior is a twinkle in his eye, a mischievous gleam, tempted, tempting. Luke swallows. “We should go wait by the stage, probably.”

Michael nods. “Meet you there,” he says, and then he’s gone, and Luke takes a moment to catch his breath for real.

He’s going to be thinking about _to be continued_ all night. He already knows it.

* * *

Getting in each other’s space is just something they do onstage. It’s part of the fun, a little bone to toss the crowd, a sneaky _hey, we might kiss, isn’t that exciting?_ Their fans eat it up, every time, so they keep doing it, Calum leaning far too close to Luke and singing straight into his mic while Luke laughs, or coming up behind Michael and playing each other’s guitars. It’s all games, really. 

Luke would like to stop feeling tense and jittery, then, every time Michael so much as _looks_ at him from stage right.

He’s fine; this is fine, and he’s a professional, so he smiles broadly when Michael does, keeps his cool on the outside, sings all his parts, dances around the stage, filling up as much space as possible. But he can’t help but hear _to be continued_ every time he and Michael lock eyes, and Michael’s expression means he almost certainly knows that.

When they finish the show they all jog offstage, passing guitars to techs, retrieving towels to wipe the sweat from their bodies. Luke is trying to look at Michael without making it obvious he’s looking, but he’s not doing a very good job. Michael disappears from his sight, and Luke casts his eyes around and frowns as he throws the towel in the bin. Somebody taps his shoulder and he whirls around.

“Good show,” Michael tells him. Luke has to catch his breath again. 

“Thanks,” he says primly. “You too.” He winces at his own tone. “That’s weird, sorry. But you did play well.”

“Yeah, you’re being weird,” Michael agrees. “Look, I don’t care, okay? If you don’t want to, like…whatever, I promise you I don’t care. Just tell me, so I don’t —”

“I want to,” Luke interrupts. Michael breaks off, cocking his head. “I do,” Luke repeats. “I mean, it’s a little weird, but whatever. We’re friends. If we say it’s not weird, then it’s not.” He’s not sure how much he believes that — it’s going to be weird despite their best efforts, he guesses, because it’s _Michael,_ his bandmate — but he says it with conviction. Michael nods.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Well, uh, you can come to my room when we get back to the hotel, then?”

Luke bites his lip. “Okay.”

* * *

So Luke knocks at Michael’s door at midnight and waits nervously outside. The door opens almost immediately to Michael’s grin, and Luke steps inside, feeling wound up, unsure of what to say, what to do — it’s _Michael,_ it’s his best friend Michael, but he said it wouldn’t be weird so he can’t be weird, can’t make it weird, has to act natural, except Luke doesn’t know what natural _is,_ can’t remember ever acting natural in his life, and he doesn’t know if he usually puts his hands in his pockets or if they just hang there awkwardly, and how does he walk? Does he take bigger steps than he is? Should he stand here and wait for Michael to say something, or should he say something? What are they going to do, here?

“Dude,” is what Michael says. “Relax.” 

Luke blinks and shakes some of the tension from his shoulders. “I’m relaxed,” he lies.

“You’re obviously not,” Michael says. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I want to.”

“Well stop freaking out, then. It’s just me.” Michael comes nearer and Luke stays put. There’s a look in Michael’s eye that’s almost too kind, too warm. “I’m up for whatever, Luke. You’re in charge.”

Luke is pretty sure he doesn’t want to be in charge. “Uh, I don’t think I should be.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we’ll just stand here all night and not do anything.”

Michael laughs. “Fine. Can I kiss you?”

Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah. Yes.”

So Michael does, slowly, as if giving Luke the option to change his mind, but the moment their lips touch Luke kicks back into gear. He can close his eyes and forget that it’s Michael, and Luke knows kissing, knows how to be with a _person_ like this. 

He tilts his head, and Michael does too, and then they’re really kissing, and Luke brings his hand up to Michael’s face, feels the ghost of stubble on his chin, slides a hand into Michael’s hair, which is much softer than you’d expect it to be from looking at it. Michael’s hands come to rest on Luke’s chest and then one curls behind his neck, and Luke wonders if maybe it’s _better_ that it’s Michael, because they know each other.

And this is what Luke’s been wanting for weeks, for months, really; just someone to kiss, because he’s missed the feeling of a warm mouth opening to his the way Michael’s does now, of someone’s rough hands gripping his waist like Michael’s are. 

There’s just a small voice in the back of Luke’s head, murmuring _are you here for the same reasons? Does he want what you want?_

Almost as if reading Luke’s mind, Michael pulls away. Luke feels his chest heave, gasps quietly for air. Holy shit, does Michael know how to kiss.

“Are we doing more than this?” Michael murmurs. His breath is hot against Luke’s face, and it takes everything Luke’s got not to just pull him back in.

“Is — um,” Luke says helplessly, “do you want to?”

Michael tilts his head. “Do you?”

“Do you?” Luke says, realizing how ridiculous they sound, but he can’t say what he wants, all he wants, that he wants at all, because that’s like saying he wants Michael, which isn’t the case. He just wants _something,_ and Michael’s offering.

“I already said I’m up for whatever,” Michael says. “But if you’re not sure, then I don’t care. This is enough for me.”

“I’m up for whatever,” Luke says distantly. Michael rolls his eyes.

“Don’t just say that because I said it.”

“I’m not.” Okay, he is. “Fine, not whatever. Maybe just this for now.”

Michael smiles. “Okay,” he says. “I love making out.”

Luke gives a laugh that’s entirely nerves. “Well, stop stalling, then.”

“Bossy,” Michael huffs, and kisses Luke again. Luke feels steady, finally, so he settles into the kiss, lets Michael guide Luke to the foot of the bed and gently push him into a sitting position, Luke’s legs bracketing Michael. His hands move gently up to Luke’s face, and his mouth moves easily against Luke’s, and when Luke tugs the front of Michael’s shirt, Michael just presses harder into it. When Michael’s tongue pries into Luke’s mouth, Luke hums in the back of his throat.

They spend a while making out, and Luke wonders if that’s a normal thing to do, if you can just make out casually with your bandmates or best friends, but they’re doing it, so it must be possible, because here they are. At some point they both find themselves in bed, and Luke feels himself slipping into unconsciousness; the exhaustion from the show has caught up to him, but he likes kissing Michael, and doesn’t want to stop.

“Go to sleep,” Michael says quietly, and Luke opens his eyes. Michael’s got an amused half-smile, and his face is still close, leaning over Luke, legs slotted together.

“I’m having fun, though,” Luke mumbles. He’d love to sleep, but that would mean ending this, and Luke’s enjoying it.

“To be continued another night, then,” Michael says. “I’m also having fun, but you’re falling asleep on me, man. And I’m tired too.”

Michael could be lying but Luke’s too sleepy to tell the difference, and he’s making a decent point. “Mm, okay,” Luke concedes. If he weren’t so out of it, he’d overthink asking, but he is, so he doesn’t: “Cuddle?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Obviously.” He presses one more kiss against Luke’s lips, and Luke sighs contentedly. And then Michael pulls the covers back, slides under them, and slings an arm over Luke’s waist, and Luke thinks how lucky he is, to have a best friend like Michael, who will cuddle him and kiss him and expect nothing beyond that.

(And in coming days, more than that, but that’s the future, and right now Luke’s not concerned with the future, just the comforting lull of Michael’s breathing, the lingering kiss on his lips.)

2.

He and Michael have an arrangement.

It’s an exceptional arrangement as far as arrangements go, because it gives both of them a chance to blow off steam, and since Michael is always around by virtue of being in the band, they have plenty of opportunities to take advantage. Once Luke had gotten over the mental block of _I can’t do this, it’s Michael,_ he discovers they actually _can_ do it — anything, whatever, and Michael’s very good at it, and it’s a flawless arrangement insofar as Luke can tell.

Maybe it’s not ideal to be sleeping with one of your bandmates, but apart from that.

It’s not like they’re the first, although Calum and Ashton are different, since they’re actually together, not just in some strange friends-with-benefits situation. And it’s not like they’re cagey about it, even though Calum and Ashton have yet to know; Luke appreciates that, that Michael always asks, doesn’t just assume Luke will be up for it (although Luke usually is). If he’s going to be sleeping with any of his bandmates, he thinks Michael’s the best one. In the hypothetical universe where Calum or Ashton were also available, anyway, Luke’s pretty sure he’d still pick Michael.

(That makes him wonder what it is about Michael, why he’s so confident he’d choose Michael to the exclusion of his other bandmates, but he refuses to dwell too much on it because he knows he’ll get stuck in his own thinking and psych himself out.)

And so far it hasn’t made things weird. Luke would almost venture that Michael has experience with this, with how well-adjusted he is; he goes from ruthless hands on Luke to cheesy smiles in a heartbeat, while Luke’s still trying to separate those two things in his mind. There’s a Michael that will flatten Luke against the wall, suck bruises onto Luke’s neck, lick into his mouth; then there’s the Michael that ruffles his hair in interviews, smacks kisses onto Calum’s cheek, photobombs Ashton’s selfies. They’re not the same, and Luke keeps the crisis to himself because he promised he wouldn’t make it weird. For a little while, he tries to puzzle it out. Then he realizes that’s a fruitless endeavor, and he could bend over backwards trying to figure Michael out and still be unsuccessful, and he decides it doesn’t matter.

Michael’s just Michael. Luke is going to have to live with that.

Onstage, they’re the same. Arguably better, because now Luke’s not living with a constant tension crawling up his spine and seizing his shoulders, and he’s that much livelier. He grins, mouth flush against the microphone, singing the chorus of She’s Kinda Hot like his life depends on it. When they go into Ashton’s verse, Luke wanders over to Michael’s side of the stage. Michael smirks at him, and Luke mirrors the look. He leans in to sing “We’re alright though,” into Michael’s microphone, and then Michael turns to say something at the same time as Luke, and for a second their lips touch.

Luke jolts away, already laughing, and so is Michael. He throws his head back, and Luke just rolls his eyes with a smile, returning to his spot center stage to finish the song. When it ends, Michael is still giggling.

“Hey,” Calum says, “did you guys just kiss?”

The crowd roars.

When they quiet, Luke leans forward and says, “Uh, yeah. I think we did.” He glances over at Michael, who’s still practically doubled over. “Fuck, dude, was it that bad?”

Michael snorts, and finally collects himself. “No, no,” he says, “it was fine. A solid six.” Luke can hardly hear him, even with the in-ears, from all the screams. “If you’d just stay on your part of the stage, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Ashton contributes, because Michael is the number one offender of dancing around the stage and crowding into everyone’s space. “You guys really kissed while I was singing?”

“Gotta stay sharp, Irwin,” Luke clucks. Michael shakes his head, smirking again, and starts fiddling with the tuning of his guitar. They move on, giving Calum his talking break, and finish the show without further incident.

They’re traveling that night, so after they’ve wrapped up with all show stuff they file onto the tour bus. As soon as it starts moving, Calum and Ashton bid their goodnights, curl up in Ashton’s bunk, and are asleep within minutes.

Luke peers at their sleeping forms before shutting the curtain again. “Cute,” he says. 

Michael falls heavily against the couch, kicking his legs up. “Wanna watch something?”

“Move your feet,” Luke says, but Michael gives him a look, like, _fuck you,_ so Luke rolls his eyes and drops down on Michael’s lap, resting his head against Michael’s shoulder. He can’t really see the TV, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

“Sure,” he says belatedly.

“I was going to ask you to put something in,” Michael says dryly, “so should I assume that’s a no?”

Luke huffs. “Yes, it’s a no.”

“You’ll have to get up so I can put something in, then.”

Luke groans. “I just got comfortable.”

“You _just_ sat down. On top of me.”

“Comfortable,” Luke repeats. Michael shoves at him. Remembering the show, randomly, he says, “I can’t believe you called that stage kiss a six.”

“Seriously?” Michael says. “We barely even touched. You’re lucky I even gave it a six.”

“But it’s about the body of work,” Luke insists. “I’d never give you a six.”

“That’s such a lie,” Michael says. “If I’d asked you, you’d have probably given me a two.”

“But not a six.” Luke would have probably given Michael a ten, possibly eleven, because that’s what he really thinks, but he’s not about to say that when Michael’s giving him shit.

“Fuck you,” Michael scowls, a laugh brightening his eyes. “You’re a nine on a good day, is that what you want me to say?”

“Only nine?”

“It’s out of ten.”

Luke frowns. “Am I a bad kisser?”

“Would I keep fucking kissing you if you were a bad kisser?” Michael says flatly, which is a fair point. But, like, maybe he would. Maybe he’s just desperate. Nine’s not bad, but it’s not ten. Luke’s not the type to deceive himself, but he’d like to believe it’s as nice for Michael to kiss him as it is for Luke, kissing Michael. “Stop thinking about this, Luke, you’re gonna make yourself crazy. The numbers are bullshit anyway.”

“Okay,” Luke says, although he probably won’t stop thinking about it. “What are we watching?”

Michael shrugs. “If you’re gonna get up, you can pick whatever you want.”

“Dangerous game you’re playing,” Luke says. That’s incentive enough to get to his feet and trip over to the TV to flip through their DVD collection. “Why do we have _Iron Man_ and _Iron Man 3_ but not the second one?”

“Because the second one sucks.” Luke whirls around, and Michael immediately laughs. “Oh my God, I’m joking, your _face!_ ”

“Take that back,” Luke says accusingly. “The second one is the best one.”

“It was a _joke._ ” Michael giggles. “Your face is so funny. I didn’t realize _Iron Man 2_ was such a hot topic for you. I take it back.”

“Thank you.” Luke cracks open the _Iron Man_ DVD and slides it into the player. He grabs the remote off the kitchenette counter — they should find a better place for it, it’s bound to fall into the sink and short-circuit one of these days — and turns everything on, then falls back again onto Michael’s lap. Michael makes a small _oof._

“You can’t just do that,” he says. “You’re not small anymore.”

Luke smiles, and, struck by sudden nerve, kisses Michael hard. He doesn’t really have an excuse; they’d messed around the night before, so it’s not like Luke needs it, and Michael hasn’t even said anything suggestive, and a nine is almost a ten.

But it’s not quite.

Michael makes a noise of surprise, but he’s quick to return it. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s neck, holding him firmly in place, deepening the kiss, pleased to finally have the upper hand. (Not that he prefers to have the upper hand, but sometimes it’s fun to catch Michael off-guard.) Michael sinks back against the cushioned armrest of the couch and Luke opens his mouth, tongue sweeping over Michael’s lower lip, feels Michael’s right hand grip tightly to Luke’s thigh.

 _Good,_ Luke thinks with relish, and now that he’s started this kiss he really doesn’t want to stop, but it was mostly to make a point, and the point has been made. Michael’s basically melted under this kiss, so the point is made. Luke should break the kiss.

He does, and immediately Michael’s chasing his lips. Luke concedes to this last one, then slowly releases Michael and pats his cheek. Michael is flushed; it’s a good look for him.

“If that was about the nine thing,” Michael says breathlessly, “I swear to God.”

Luke gives him a cheeky smile. “Shh,” he says, shifting on Michael’s lap to rest his head against Michael’s chest. “Movie’s starting.” He makes it about a minute, enough time for Michael’s heartbeat (thumping loud in Luke’s ear) to return to normal. “Still a nine, though?”

“Oh my God,” Michael says, shaking his head. “Ten, Luke. Best kisser I’ve ever kissed. Are you happy?”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“You’re impossible to please,” Michael says, which is decidedly untrue, “but for the record, I do mean it. I was thinking it before, I just didn’t want to give you an ego. Go on, how do you rate me?”

“Eleven,” Luke says without thinking. “But don’t let it go to your head.” He’s a little dizzy with joy from _best kisser I’ve ever kissed ._ “Can you shut up, please? I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“I fucking hate you,” Michael mutters, and that’s also decidedly untrue, but Luke lets it slide, tucking his legs up onto the couch to tangle with Michael’s and settling in for the night.

  
  


3.

Calum finishes his beer, places the bottle thoughtfully on the floor, and says, “Hey, we should play spin the bottle.”

“If you want a kiss, you can just ask,” Ashton says from the bed.

“It’s been forever since we’ve played it,” Calum insists, and Luke finally looks up from his phone. He’s also on the floor, back against the wall, side-by-side with Michael, who’s also on his phone. Michael’s just Tweeted at Luke, and Luke is trying to decide whether or not he should reply. They’re all in Calum and Ashton’s hotel room, taking a lazy night. Sometimes Luke wonders why they take lazy nights together. It’s not like they don’t spend enough time together otherwise.

Every once in a while, Luke will be seized with the feeling that he’s connected to these boys, someway deeper than just the band and the career, something profound. He doesn’t think it should be possible to spend so much time around the same three blokes and not want to kill any of them, but Luke still loves them all, wholly and irrevocably, with unmitigated fierceness. Given the choice between being alone or being with his band, Luke thinks he’ll almost always pick the latter.

They’ll almost always choose him, also. 

“That’s because we’re just us four now,” Michael observes. “No Niall.”

“No Niall,” Luke echoes mournfully. It had always been nice having Niall around.

“Yeah, but for shits and giggles,” Calum says. “It’ll be fun. I keep kissing Ashton, I need some variety.”

“Hey,” Ashton protests. Michael snorts.

“I’m in,” he says. “I’m not afraid to kiss any of you fuckers.” Luke thinks that, at least, is true.

“I don’t want to kiss Ashton,” he says. Then, “Actually —”

“Watch your next words,” Calum warns.

“I don’t want to kiss Ashton!” Luke promises, holding his hands up as if to say _don’t shoot._ “I don’t _want_ to but I’m not gonna pretend I’m not _curious._ But that’s not — like, it’s not just Ashton. I’m curious about kissing anyone.”

Calum gives him a look. “You’re talking about my boyfriend right now.”

“ _I don’t want to kiss Ashton._ ”

“Well, now, hold on a second,” Ashton says, bouncing off the bed and making himself comfortable on the floor. “Luke’s curious.”

“Never mind,” Luke says, turning red. “I wish I hadn’t said anything. I hate all of you.”

“Are you saying you’re not curious about kissing me?” Calum challenges. “Or Mike?”

“I already —” Luke nearly chokes, and deliberately keeps his gaze away from Michael. “I’ve already kissed you in different spin the bottle games.”

Calum frowns. “True.”

“It was your idea, anyway,” Michael points out. “You can’t suggest a game of spin the bottle with your boyfriend without expecting that someone else is going to snog him.”

“That’s true,” Calum says. “I’d already decided I don’t care.” He looks over at Ashton. “No one’s gonna kiss you better than I do.”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “Luke looks pretty promising.” Luke flips him off, and Calum does the same. Ashton laughs. “Okay, obviously not, but since we’ve already discussed for like five minutes it’d be boring not to play now. Come on, Luke, Michael, come sit in our spin the bottle circle.”

Luke sighs and takes a seat next to Calum, and Michael takes a seat next to Luke. With Luke’s legs tucked underneath him and Michael sitting cross-legged, their knees touch.

“We can’t just keep going around spinning the bottle,” Michael says. “I say everyone spins once.”

“What if Calum or Ashton get each other, though?” Luke says. “I thought the whole point was to switch it up.”

“If you get your boyfriend, spin again,” Michael concedes. “After this I’m gonna go take a shower, I think.”

“You’ve not showered?” Ashton scrunches up his face. “I don’t want to kiss you if you’re gross and sweaty.”

“Well, maybe the bottle will land on Luke, then,” Michael says, entirely unbothered. “You can start, Ashton.”

Ashton takes the bottle and spins it, and Luke watches it slow to a wobbling stop pointing at himself. Ashton grins triumphantly. 

“Fuck yeah,” he says. “Bottle read my mind.”

Calum folds his arms across his chest. “Alright, get on with it.”

“I believe the rules of the game say you have to come to me,” Luke says. He’s certainly not going to move unless absolutely necessary, plus he’s always felt silly doing that awkward crawl across the circle. Ashton shakes his head.

“Fine,” he says, and does the awkward crawl. “No tongue, you perv, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“I don’t want to French kiss you,” Luke says disgustedly. “Gross.”

“Hey,” Calum says. “You _should_ want to French Ashton. You should be so lucky.”

“Can’t win,” Luke says, exasperated.

“Everyone shut up,” Ashton says. “Luke, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Please do,” Luke says, and then Ashton does. It’s short and sweet and makes Luke feel absolutely nothing, apart from cementing the certainty that he has no interest in kissing Ashton again. It’s not that Ashton’s bad at it — they don’t kiss long enough to tell, anyway, but his mouth’s nice, and everything — he’s just so very much not the kind of person Luke would seek out to snog. 

“How was it?” Michael asks when the two of them part. “Everything you’ve ever dreamed of? Your deepest desires fulfilled?”

Luke shrugs. “Alright.”

“That’s mean,” Ashton protests half-heartedly. Calum tugs on Ashton’s sleeve and pulls him into a kiss, and Luke laughs at the surprise on Ashton’s face.

“By transitive property, we just kissed,” Luke tells Calum, and Calum scowls.

“I was trying to get _your_ kiss off him,” he says, reaching for the bottle. “Anyway it’s my turn now.”

“What?” Michael says. “It’s my turn. Clockwise.”

“I’m going,” Calum says, and that’s that, apparently. He spins the bottle and after a few turns it lands on Ashton. Calum glances apologetically at Ashton, then spins again. This time it lands on Michael.

“Just my fucking luck,” Michael says. “Alright, c’mere.”

Calum leans forward on his hands and Michael meets him for a quick kiss. Luke watches them do it — he hasn’t got much of a choice, since they’re right in front of his face — and frowns. It’s weird watching Michael kiss someone else, after so many weeks being the only person Michael’s kissed. It’s weird, and Luke is pretty sure he doesn’t like it.

But it’s just Calum. Luke’s overreacting.

Calum sits back down in his place. “I would say you’ve improved since high school,” he says decisively, which makes them all laugh. “Alright, Luke, you go.”

Luke takes the bottle. He finds himself hoping it will land on Michael — between Michael and Calum he’s sure he’d rather kiss Michael — but when it slows to a stop it’s aiming at Calum.

“Bloody hell, alright,” Calum sighs. Then, slightly cheerier, “Hey, now I can compare you and Mike.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Luke says. “I’m sure he’s better than me.”

“Nobody’s kissing Calum long enough for Calum to decide any of that,” Ashton proclaims, and Luke shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to fucking kiss Calum!”

“Well you haven’t got a choice here, mate,” Calum says. Luke rolls his eyes. He _knows_ that; he just wants to make it perfectly clear he’d never elect to kiss Calum without the mandate of the bottle. Calum raises his eyebrows at Luke as if to say _well?_ So Luke turns to face Calum and pulls him into a kiss.

Just like Ashton, Calum makes Luke feel nothing. Like Ashton, he’s fine at it, but there’s nothing there, no reason Luke would ever want to do it again.

That’s for the best, Luke figures, since Calum and Ashton are both actually taken, by each other. It would probably be an issue if Luke _did_ want to kiss either of them again.

“Impressive variety in this game so far,” Luke says, wiping his mouth exaggeratedly just to fuck with Calum. “Go ahead, Mike, your turn. Last spin.”

“If I get Cal, do I have to kiss him again?” Michael asks, even as he twists the bottle around for a spin. It slows down, and for a moment Luke wonders if it’s going to land on Michael himself, but then it goes a bit further, and it stops moving pointing at Luke.

Luke’s heart beats one time too many. “Now _I_ can compare you and Calum,” he says lightly. He’s nervous for some reason, nervous that the way they kiss is going to reveal to Calum and Ashton that they’re used to it, that they’ve already mapped each other’s mouths. 

“Don’t you dare,” Michael says. He doesn’t say anything else, just shifts around and then moves towards Luke, kissing him gently on the lips. Immediately it feels better than kissing Calum and Ashton had; this is familiar. Kissing Michael is familiar, and Luke likes familiar.

“With tongue!” Ashton wheedles. “It’s like you’ve never played spin the bottle.”

But Michael pulls away and makes a face at Ashton. “Don’t be a voyeurist,” he says reproachfully. “You want more than that, you gotta pay.”

“No,” Luke cuts in. “Even if you pay, Michael and I are not going to make out for you. But the good news is that if you’re looking to get off you have a very willing boyfriend right here —”

“Stop oh my _God_ stop that is _not_ what I meant,” Ashton says loudly. Calum sniggers. Ashton glares at him. “Okay, well, this was fun, I guess?”

“Band bonding,” Calum says. “Personally I feel closer to all of you. Hey, I actually kissed everyone.”

“Slut,” Luke says, grinning. Calum makes a face. “And? Verdict? Who’s the best kisser?”

“Michael, obviously,” Calum says, earning him a smack on the shoulder from Ashton. Luke glances at Michael, who’s smirking indulgently.

“I kissed all of you also,” Luke points out. He wavers for a moment with all of their eyes on him, then says, “But I think I have to say Michael was best, unless I want to be threatened by Cashton.”

“That would be correct,” Ashton confirms. “Although I would also accept myself as an answer.”

“Okay,” Michael says, and stands up. “I’m going to go have a shower. Luke, you coming?”

Luke does a double-take. “Uh, what?”

“Back to the room,” Michael says. Calum laughs.

“Sounded like you were inviting him to shower with you,” he says. Michael blinks, and then grins.

“Maybe I was,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. He offers out a hand and Luke takes it, pulling himself to his feet. 

“Well, I’m not interested,” Luke lies, although he figures Michael can see from his face that he very much is interested. “But yeah, I’m coming back.” To Calum and Ashton, “See you guys in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” they both bid him, and then the same to Michael, and then both of them leave, ambling down the hotel hall until they reach their room. 

Luke still has the traces of his disappointingly chaste kiss with Michael on his lips, and when they enter the room and Michael turns to Luke, it’s obvious Michael’s thinking about it also. “ _Do_ you want to shower with me?” Michael asks bluntly, and Luke thinks at this point he shouldn’t be taken aback by Michael’s forwardness, but he always is, a little bit.

“Uh, actually?”

Michael shrugs. “Sure, if you want.”

Luke’s mouth feels a bit dry. “Okay. Sure.”

Michael gives him a smile and then pulls him close to kiss him. Luke sighs with relief into it, tilting his head for easier access, flushing with heat when Michael’s hands sneak up under the hem of Luke’s t-shirt. His hands are cold on Luke’s sides and Luke smiles a bit when Michael pulls back, inhaling deeply.

“Best kisser in the band,” Michael tells him, and it makes Luke feel good for no reason, because Michael’s not very well going to say it’s Calum or Ashton, and it’s obviously a tongue-in-cheek comment, but still. “Okay, I’m gonna go shower. Give me a few minutes so I’m not still gross.”

“Bit late for that,” Luke says, but Michael makes a face at him.

“Five minutes,” he insists, and Luke figures he can wait five minutes. Michael vanishes into the bathroom and Luke falls back onto the bed, wondering when, exactly, this became his normal.

(And hoping it never goes away.)  
  


4.

“We should tell Calum and Ashton about this,” Luke mumbles, mostly into Michael’s shoulder.

Michael turns his head. “Say again?”

Luke is tired, worn out from former activities, but he picks his head up anyway and repeats himself. “We should tell Calum and Ashton. That we do this.”

Michael makes a face. “Your first thought after we fuck is Calum and Ashton?”

“Ew,” Luke says, shoving at Michael’s arm, and Michael twists away, chuckling. “I just think…I don’t know. Like, isn’t it weird that we haven’t? We’re making it into some bigger deal than it is. It’s not _really_ a big secret, is it?”

“Well, no,” Michael says carefully, as if considering his words, “but it’s also…not really their business.”

“Well, we’re both in the band.”

“Yeah, but it’s still kind of personal. They don’t need to know who I’m sleeping with.” 

“Normally not, except you’re sleeping with _me_.”

“Not for long if you keep this up,” Michael says dryly, and Luke swats his arm again. For a moment it stirs something nervous in him; Michael wouldn’t just drop him, would he? Michael’s as enthusiastically involved in the arrangement as Luke is; anyway, it does them both some good to have the other around. And — and Luke could _probably_ just go out and pick someone up whenever he needed, but it’s just easier with Michael. And nicer with Michael. And it feels better, because now he and Michael are familiar with each other, and Luke doesn’t have to go through the motions of satisfying-but-not-exceptional sex with a stranger. It’s exceptional with Michael, and he’s not stewing in guilt from sleeping with someone random. The way Luke sees it, it’s wins across the board.

“I’m just saying,” Luke says.

“It’s kind of a weird thing to tell,” Michael says. “Like, _hey Cal, hey Ashton, by the way, me and Luke are sleeping together._ They’ll ask if we’re together-together.”

“And we’ll say that we’re not.”

Michael pauses. “Still weird.”

“I just feel weird keeping it from them,” Luke admits. “I know it’s not their business because it’s sex, but I don’t want to keep secrets, you know? _Especially_ not this kind of thing. Which could, you know.” He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to plant the idea in Michael’s mind that something could go wrong here, that anything could ruin this. They’re doing just fine and he can’t think of a reason for them to stop, and like he’d said, they’re not together-together. If Michael wants to go off and find a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or whatever, that’s fine with Luke.

(Thinking it leaves a sour taste in Luke’s mouth.)

“Yeah,” Michael says, thankfully understanding without making Luke spell it out. “I mean, if you want to tell them then that’s okay with me. I just — it’s not a big deal. Telling them makes it seem like a big deal, and it’s not.”

“Yeah, but not telling them also makes it seem like a big deal,” Luke says, and Michael tilts his head, acknowledging this point. “You don’t have to do it. I can.”

“I’m not gonna leave you high and dry.”

“I don’t really mind.”

“I’m not a dick, Luke, come on.”

“I don’t think you are. It’s not a dick move. I seriously don’t care.”

Michael gives him a calculating look. He must find something genuine in Luke’s face, because he sighs dramatically. “Fine then. You tell them. Let me know when you do. Just — back burner for the moment. More important things to do.” 

Luke feels himself smile a bit. “Such as?”

“Sleep, you fucking moron,” Michael grumbles. He turns over, wrapping Luke in his arms, and presses his face into the back of Luke’s neck. “Also, blanket ban from discussing our bandmates as soon as we’ve finished, that was really emotionally upsetting for me.”

Luke laughs. “Sorry.”

Michael licks the back of his neck. “That’s your punishment.”

“Michael, gross!”

Michael makes a noise that’s probably a laugh, but it’s hard to tell from his position. “Everything we’ve just done and _that’s_ gross?”

“The other stuff was fun,” Luke complains. “That was just nasty.”

“Well, that’s what you get for killing the mood by bringing up Calum.”

“Lesson learned,” Luke concedes. “No talking about our best friends after sex.”

“That should be a given, you awful, awful slut,” Michael whispers. It makes Luke laugh, and the laugh tapers off into a relaxed smile. He settles himself back against Michael, one hand on top of Michael’s where it rests against Luke’s stomach, the other tugging the covers nearer to his chin. In Luke’s life, he’s fallen asleep in many beds, with many people, but he thinks Michael tops the list without effort. Nobody is as warm and comfortable as Michael, no bed as inviting as one with Michael in it.

(Luke should think about why that is, but he won’t. The back burner in his mind is filling up quickly.)

He drifts off to Michael’s steady breathing, thinking about how well they fit together.

* * *

Luke’s never been to a baseball game, but once they’re in their seats and the game has started he realizes there’s a reason for that. It’s a boring sport, with not much to fill the wasted time after every pitch, or between batters. Michael and Calum are paying attention, and Luke wishes them the best for it, but he zones out around halfway through the first inning and fails to follow the game thereafter.

“Luke,” Michael whines after the third inning. “You’re missing the whole game.”

Luke looks up from his phone. “It’s not a very interesting game,” he says.

“Maybe that’s because you’re not watching it.”

“I watched the first half of the first inning and I decided it wasn’t interesting.”

“We’re winning, Luke!”

“Really?” Luke squints at the field. “Which team are we rooting for?”

“The Nationals,” Michael says exasperatedly. “The ones in red.”

“Why are we rooting for the Nationals if we’re at Dodgers Stadium?”

“Because it’s more fun to cheer on the underdog,” Calum pipes up. Luke allows this.

“Fine,” he says. “Go, Nationals.” He looks up at the scoreboard, which announces Nationals leading 2-1. Further up, a massive jumbotron is declaring, _KISS CAM!_ Luke grins. “Hey, kiss cam.”

“Oh my God,” Michael says. “We should get Calum and Ash on it.”

Luke laughs. “Can you do that?”

“We should have paid someone off,” Michael says mournfully. 

“There’s always next time,” Luke says, although he hopes to never return to a baseball game if at all possible. Los Angeles won’t be pleased to know that he doesn’t care for baseball, but whatever. He can lie to Los Angeles.

The kiss cam cuts first to a young woman and the young man beside her, and when they register that they’re on the screen, they both light up, and kiss for a second. Next is an older couple who have much the same reaction. Luke watches, amused, as the shot changes again, and for a moment he does a furious double-take, and then he realizes that’s not a hallucination. He’s on the kiss cam.

He and Michael are on the kiss cam.

“Oh my fucking God,” Calum says, and Ashton, from the end of the row, laughs uproariously. 

“No way,” Michael says. He turns accusingly to Calum. “Did _you_ pay someone off?”

“Michael, we have to do it,” Luke says. The whole stadium is humming with noise now, and Luke can sense the disapproval from their waffling and avoidance. If nothing else, he’d like the camera to be off of them as soon as possible, and he’s heard stories of kiss cams returning to couples who staunchly refuse to kiss. “Just for a second, at least.”

Michael groans loudly. “Fine,” he says, and kisses Luke quickly, to resounding cheers from the stadium. It’s weird to be cheered at like this, but not, Luke thinks, bad. They might think he and Michael are together and just being coy, and that’s — that’s kind of fun, that a whole stadium of people now think Luke and Michael are dating, or are close enough to kiss. They _are_ close enough to kiss, but still.

Luke pulls away, smiling wide enough to be joking. He looks up at the jumbotron, but it’s already moved on, to his relief. When he looks back, Michael is also smiling. 

“Disappointing kiss,” Ashton chides. “Come on, where’s the action? That wasn’t even first base.”

“Next time you and Calum can be on it,” Luke tells him, “and you can make out as much as you want.”

“We don’t need a jumbotron to make out,” Calum says, as if the very idea offends him. “But I have to say I agree with Ashton. _Very_ disappointing kiss. I expect more from someone who wrote a song called Kiss Me, Kiss Me.”

“That wasn’t even me!” Michael protests.

“I’m obviously talking to Luke, then, you fucking idiot.”

“The song’s called Kiss Me,” Luke says. “Not French Me.”

“God, I hate this fucking band,” Michael announces. “I’m going to go get some pizza. Anyone want anything? Anyone wanna come?”

Luke almost volunteers, but he wonders if that will seem suspicious on the heels of debating the quality of his and Michael’s kisses. “Get me a Coke?” he asks instead. 

“And peanuts,” Ashton adds. “Please.”

Michael nods. “Back in a few,” he says, and then he squeezes past Calum and then Ashton onto the stairs and takes them up to the concourse, and disappears from view.

The next inning has started, and Luke moves into Michael’s seat to close the gap between him and his bandmates. Calum is looking at something on his phone. When Luke peers over at it, he sees it’s a video of them on the kiss cam. 

“You’re such a shit,” he says, shaking his head while Calum giggles.

“No, it’s so good,” Calum says. “My two best friends snogging. In public. For anyone to see.”

“ _You_ encouraged it.”

“I was equally in favor,” Ashton jumps in. “I love to publicly humiliate you two.”

“Yes, I know,” Luke huffs, and Ashton reaches across Calum to pat Luke’s knee.

“Don’t be bitter,” he says sympathetically. “I still love you.”

“Yeah, and I like you fine,” Calum says. Luke elbows him. The stadium roars to life, and Calum leans forward in his seat, taken in once again by the game. Luke imitates him, for the sake of maybe understanding what’s going on. It had obviously mattered enough to Michael to bother Luke about it, so maybe Luke should make more of an effort.

“Double,” Calum crows, as the runner reaches what Luke has to assume is second base. “Fuck yeah. What’s that dude’s name?” He looks up at the jumbotron but it’s already announcing the next batter, someone called Trea Turner. “Ah, well. Whatever he’s called, he’s killing it.” He glances to his right, and then, sheepishly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and Luke figures he’s been doing the patented Ashton Gaze of Adoration. It’s not exclusive to Calum — Ashton looks at most things like he’s in love with them — but it’s definitely most frequently aimed at him. “You’re just cute. And I like that you’re so invested in this.”

Calum presses a kiss to Ashton’s cheek and then rests his head on Ashton’s shoulder. “I’ll narrate for you guys,” he says. “It’s a cool sport once you get into it.”

“I bet,” Ashton says, and over Calum he meets Luke’s eyes and gives a wry shake of the head, like, _I seriously doubt it._ Luke smiles, and out of the corner of his eye he watches the two of them as the game continues. Ashton rubs Calum's knee mindlessly until Calum puts a hand on top of Ashton’s, and then Ashton flips his palm up to tangle their fingers together. It’s cute, the way that everything Calum and Ashton does is cute, with a hint of sarcasm but mostly dripping with sincerity and love. Luke thinks it must be nice, to be in a band with someone with whom you’re in love. It would be nice for Luke to have. 

He wouldn’t mind it with Michael.

That thought sucker punches Luke, and he sits there for a moment, reeling, waiting for it to ebb like those bizarre passing thoughts always do, but instead it settles, echoes around inside his mind, makes itself comfortable. Luke feels his heartbeat pick up. It can’t stay, it can’t; this thought needs to _go,_ because he can’t be thinking that about Michael, anyone _but_ Michael but not Michael, not with everything they’re doing and everything they’ve agreed to.

When Calum glances over at Luke, mouth open to speak, he must see the conflict painted on Luke’s face, because what he says is, “Hey, you okay?”

Luke stares. He stares and stares and tries to get the thought out of his mind, of how easy it would be to be in love with Michael, but the more he struggles the more stubbornly it sinks its teeth in, until there’s no hope at all for escape. Calum is frowning in concern, and Ashton’s looking over as well now, poised to say something, brows furrowed, and Luke might be in love with Michael, maybe, and in a rush he says, “Michael and I are sleeping together.” 

Out of all the ways to panic, this is surely the worst. But it’s all Luke can think to say, because he can’t say anything else, or ask anything else, or say _hey, is it as nice to be in love with your bandmate as it looks when you two do it?_ All Luke gets with Michael is their whole friends-who-fuck arrangement, but that’s when Michael is as close to being Luke’s as he’ll probably ever get, and fuck, Luke’s not ready to let that go — if he wasn’t before, he _definitely_ isn’t now. And if he tells Calum and Ashton, if Calum and Ashton know, then it’s harder to break off, because then they have to explain it to the band as well, and maybe telling them makes it a big deal but that’s better than it being nothing, than Michael having the option to end it as quickly and effortlessly as it had begun.

Calum’s face goes through several different expressions, and past him, Ashton’s stays very calm. “What?” 

“For a few months now,” Luke says nervously, and drags his bottom lip through his teeth. “It’s not — it’s not — like, we’re not together, it’s just to blow off steam, you know, like, after shows and stuff. It’s not a big deal,” not to Michael, at least, “but we just kind of figured you should know. Since it’s, like, the band.”

“You and Michael?” Calum repeats. Luke nods. “A few _months?_ ”

“It’s fine,” Ashton says quietly, settling a hand on Calum’s arm. “It’s fine, Luke, it’s just, you know, that’s kind of a…we weren’t expecting that.”

“No, I know, I wasn’t expecting to tell you,” Luke says. “It just felt like we should. Like I should. Uh, don’t make a big deal out of it, please? I really think Michael wants it to not be a big deal.”

Calum is staring at Luke as if doing so for long enough will reveal further answers, but Luke has none. “So you and Michael are just, like, sleeping together, but nothing else,” he says slowly. “Strictly friends-with-benefits situation.”

“Yes.”

Calum screws up his whole face. He seems to be trying very hard not to say something, or maybe trying to figure out how to say it, but when he resets, all he says is, “Well, we have to trust that you guys aren’t going to fuck up, right?”

Luke exhales. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been to hear Calum and Ashton’s responses until they’d been decent. “Of course. We won’t fuck up. And it won’t affect the band. It’s just for — it’s not, like, there’s nothing — no reason we couldn’t just break it off whenever. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is fine,” Calum repeats.

“Okay,” Ashton says. “Everything’s fine, then. If you say it is, then it is.”

“Thank you,” Luke says. He’s not totally sure why he’s thanking them, but Ashton gives him a small smile, and Luke returns it, and there are still alarms blaring in his head, whirling around, screaming _you’re in love with Michael_ loud and flashy enough to give anyone a migraine, but everything is fine. It is because Luke says it is, because it has to be, because there’s no other choice. And he’s just promised everything is fine, and Ashton and Calum are trusting him, so it has to be fine. It will be.

He’s fine.

* * *

It’s Calum at the door. “Can I talk to you a sec?”

Luke glances inward at Michael, who’s in the middle of pulling on a shirt. “Yeah,” he says, feeling stressed all of a sudden. “Back in a sec, Mike,” he tells Michael, and Michael gives him a twisted thumbs up from where he’s tangled in his t-shirt.

Luke steps outside the hotel room and lets the door close behind him. He follows Calum a few paces away, then leans against the wall opposite him. Calum studies him.

“I have to say something about you and Michael,” he says. Luke bites his lip.

“Okay,” he says uneasily.

Calum shifts, then crosses his arms. “You’re one of my best friends,” he says. “So is Michael. I honestly don’t think I want to get in the middle of whatever’s going on with you two, but I’ve known Michael a really long time, and he’s never been the type to have something casual like what you said you’re doing. He doesn’t do that.” 

Luke resists the urge to point out that that’s obviously not true. “Uh, okay.”

“I guess I’m just concerned that,” Calum opens and closes his mouth a couple times, searching for the right words, “that you think you’re understanding the situation better than you actually are. Or that you think you’re on the same page but you’re not even, like, reading the same book.”

“Bro, just say what you mean. It’s too late to be dealing with metaphors and whatever.”

“I’m not sure,” Calum says. “He’s never mentioned anything to me, so I’m just telling you this based on what I know about Michael, but it’s much more likely that there’s more feelings involved in this than you think. And if you’re not feeling anything like that, I think you should probably end it.”

Luke’s mouth is dry. “What do you mean, feelings?”

“I mean you know how Michael gets,” Calum says. “Passionate, dedicated. He’s like that with people, too. And maybe it’s just blowing off steam for you but it’s something more for him, and I just, fuck, Luke, I _need_ you to be careful. That’s my best friend.”

“So am I,” Luke says, a little hurt, largely because he can’t figure out what else to feel.

Calum gives him a look. “Obviously that’s not what I mean. But _your_ feelings aren’t in question. You said it’s nothing, but if it’s not nothing to Michael, then that’s a problem. Like, that will hurt him. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“It won’t affect the band, I already said,” Luke says. “We’re mature. If there’s a problem we can figure it out.”

“Luke. I’m not worried about the band. I’m worried about _Michael._ ”

Distantly, Luke can hear that, but it’s not really registering, because what Calum’s saying doesn’t line up at all with how Michael’s described their thing, as something borne of convenience, a favor, a product of an established friendship and mutual trust, but not feelings. There are no feelings involved in the arrangement — that’s part of the arrangement, and it had been Michael as much as Luke who had agreed upon that.

(Not in so many words, but — it’s implied. Isn’t it implied, that you don’t become friends with benefits with a guy you fancy? If Michael felt something, anything, he wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place, right? That’d be stupid to do.)

“I get why you’re worried, I really do,” Luke says to Calum, “but I don’t think it’s like that.”

Calum sighs. “How did I know you would say that?”

“Well, what do you want me to say? You want me to lie? It’s not like that, Michael doesn’t feel anything for me, we’re just friends who occasionally fuck, it’s not like we invented the concept of friends with benefits.”

“I think it would be worth it to talk to him,” Calum says patiently. “Look, if you really are on the same page, then great. But if not, wouldn’t you want to know?”

 _No,_ Luke doesn’t say, _I don’t want to know that Michael feels nothing for me, because as of today, I might be in love with him, and that would really fuck everything up._ It’s easier to live in this ambiguity Calum’s created, to swim in the potential of Michael liking Luke as a person to like, instead of just a friend with a body, than to ask. As long as they carry on not-talking about it, Luke can pretend. But he’s not sure he’d survive asking Michael point-blank, only to be categorically rebuffed. He knows Michael doesn’t like Luke in that way; he doesn’t need to hear it in Michael’s voice.

“This is why Michael didn’t want to tell you,” he says; a hint of accusation creeps into his voice, and he tries to tamp it down. “He didn’t want it to be a big deal. You’re making it a big deal, and it’s not.”

“It’s not a big fucking deal, Luke,” Calum says, with an edge. “It’s just a person’s feelings. Like it or not, Michael’s still got a heart, and he’ll be having feelings whether or not anyone makes any kind of deal about it. I don’t care that you’re doing it, honestly, I just want to be sure nobody’s getting hurt.” 

“Nobody’s getting hurt,” Luke says firmly. Nobody’s getting hurt _yet,_ anyway, although Luke has yet to do anything with Michael since being floored by his newfound realization. But whatever — Calum’s not worried about Luke, he’s worried about Michael, and Michael is fine. “We’re fine, Calum. Honestly. Michael’s not an idiot. If he fancied me he wouldn’t have offered to sleep with me.” 

Calum looks grim. “He absolutely would have,” he says wearily, and then shakes his head. “Well, I can’t make you talk to him, but I still think it’s a good idea. I’m not trying to attack you, Luke.”

“I know,” Luke says, because he does. He gets it. “You’re worried about Michael. You’re a good friend.”

Calum smiles hesitantly. “Just be careful, that’s all,” he says.

Luke returns the smile. “I’m gonna go to bed now,” he says. “Unless you had more to say?”

“No, that was it.” Calum straightens up and claps a hand onto Luke’s shoulder. “You know I love you, right?”

Luke feels it swell in his heart. “Love you too,” he says. “Goodnight, Cal.”

“Yeah, goodnight, Luke. Sleep well.”

Luke watches him head back down the hallway and enter his room, and then he stares down the empty hallway a little bit longer. 

The thing is that Luke wouldn’t dream of breaking off the arrangement with Michael, especially not now that he might be in love, because that would leave him empty-handed, fumbling, grasping at air. It’s better to have Michael like this than not at all, and with the kissing and the touching and the friendship in between, it’s almost like being in love, enough that Luke can probably pretend. He _will_ pretend, because it’s not fair to ruin what they’ve got just because Luke fucked up and started liking Michael. It’s still a favor, so far as Michael’s concerned, and there’s no reason Luke can’t continue to deliver.

It’s sweet of Calum to worry, but he’s worrying about the wrong guy, and Luke slopes back into the room to Michael already cuddled up in bed, giving Luke a hopeful gaze as if Luke would ever elect to sleep anywhere else, and he thinks that actually, just this forever wouldn’t be so bad. It could be worse.

It could be better, but it could be far worse.

5.

Calum and Ashton fall victim the moment they walk through the door.

“Hey!” Rian says, appearing in front of them out of nowhere. “Mistletoe! You have to kiss.” He gives Ashton a look. “You don’t _have_ to, but I figure you’ll want to.”

In tandem, the four of them all look up, and sure enough there’s mistletoe hung over the entryway. 

“That’s hardly fair,” Luke says. “You’re basically asking people to kiss to enter.”

“It’s not a Christmas party without some awkward smooching under the mistletoe,” Rian says, grinning easily. “Hey, guys. Nice to have you.”

“Hi,” Michael says, and gives Rian a sideways, one-armed hug, so as to protect Rian’s drink. Rian hugs Luke next, and by that time Calum and Ashton have finished kissing and Rian gets both of them in one embrace. 

“Merry Christmas,” he tells them all. “Drinks in the kitchen, people everywhere, you can throw your coats in the third room on the right, you’ve been to parties before, you know the drill.”

“I thought this was Alex’s house,” Luke says, confused.

“It is,” Rian says, “but he’s being a social butterfly and is also way more drunk than I am, so he’s set me the task of greeting everyone.”

“That’ll be your job, once we get around to throwing a Christmas party,” Calum informs Ashton. “Greeter.”

“Dream on,” Ashton says. He blushes, and Luke figures it’s from Calum so easily implying that one day they’ll have a place of their own and be settled enough to have a Christmas party. 

“Go party,” Rian encourages them. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure. And careful about the mistletoe, Alex went very, very overboard.”

They all laugh and move further into the party. Calum drags Ashton off to the kitchen to get drinks, and Luke figures he won’t be seeing much of the cuffed half of their band for the remainder of the night. Michael, though, stays close at hand for the moment. They meander among the people, waving at familiar faces, and a few people stop to chat and catch up. Eventually they reach the eye of the social hurricane, where, unsurprisingly, Jack and Alex are entertaining a crowd with loud, drunken storytelling.

“Hey!” Jack shouts, seeing Luke and Michael. “The kids are here!”

“Fuck yeah!” Alex cheers, holding out a hand even as he staggers. One of his arms is wrapped very tightly around Jack’s shoulders, and Luke suspects that without each other, both of them would have fallen over by now. “Fuck yeah, it’s 5 Seconds of Summer! Well, it’s half. Get over here, you assholes, come meet everyone.”

Luke allows himself to be dragged into the conversation, but Michael hangs back. “I’m gonna get something to drink,” he tells the three of them. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” Jack pouts, and Luke gives him a wry smile, as if to say _get out while you still can._ It makes Michael smile back, and then he’s gone, weaving his way through people until he disappears from view.

“Hey,” Luke tells Alex and Jack. “You guys look like you’re having fun.”

“I love Christmas parties,” Jack says, very earnestly, very close to Luke’s face. “You get a drink?”

“I will in a minute. How are you? Or, uh, should I not ask while you’re this wasted?”

Alex laughs loudly. “You’re awesome, Luke,” he says enthusiastically. “What’s up with you, my man?” He’s failed to answer Luke’s question, but Luke figures that had been too much to ask from an Alex whose veins race with more alcohol than blood at this point. 

“Not a lot,” Luke says, which isn’t true in the grand scheme of things, but to Jack and Alex it probably is. He can’t call touring _a lot,_ not to a band who’s been touring for over a decade now, and it’s not like they’ve got a lot else going on. “You know, the usual.”

“Can’t complain about the usual,” Alex says wisely. “The usual keeps the food on the table, my young padawan.”

Luke grins. “Yeah, I know. It’s awesome, just not, you know. There’s nothing really to report. Things are good with you and Rian?” he says to Alex. Alex beams ear to ear, and despite the drinking, Luke can tell this smile is one hundred percent sober.

“Man,” he says, clapping a hand onto Luke’s shoulder, “things are so good. It’s so good to be in love, you know?”

Luke’s stomach pitches. “Yeah,” he says. “I bet.”

“Hey!” Jack protests. “I’m in love.”

“Yeah, with _Zack._ ”

“Hey, watch it,” Jack says threateningly, wagging a finger at Alex. To Luke: “He’s just jealous my boyfriend’s buffer than his.”

“My boyfriend is a drummer!”

“Yeah, and mine works out every day. And that’s not even counting the sex.”

Luke stifles a laugh.

“Shut up,” Alex says. “I’m not — you’re wrong. You’re fucking wrong, you asshole, Rian’s way hotter than Zack.” Urgently he turns to Luke. “ _Don’t_ tell Zack I said that. He will beat me up.”

“I won’t,” Luke promises.

“And you, stop corrupting Luke,” Alex admonishes Jack. “He’s never heard of sex. Let him live in his innocence a little longer.”

This time Luke fails to stifle his laugh. “That’s me,” he says. “Picture of innocence.”

“If anyone asks,” Jack tells him, “that’s what you gotta say. _I’ve never even heard of sex, much less had it._ Better for the image.”

“Because you’re the experts at maintaining a clean image.”

“Don’t be cheeky, you piece of shit,” Jack says fondly, ruffling Luke’s hair. Luke ducks, laughing. He likes hanging out with All Time Low in every iteration, of course, but he’s not sure he’s ever been privy to Alex and Jack as wasted as this, and he’s delighted to learn they’re hilariously useless. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Luke tells them. “Make the rounds. You know. Is there anyone here I should keep an eye out for?”

“Yes,” Alex says seriously. “Rian. Tell him I say he’s looking good. No, don’t do that. I can hit on my boyfriend myself.” He turns to Jack. “I’m gonna go find Rian.”

“Tell Zack he’s looking good if you see him,” Jack says brightly. “Hey, can I set up the karaoke thing?”

Alex chews on his lip. “I’m gonna find Zack,” he decides. “You’re too drunk. Don’t trust you with my karaoke shit.”

“Hey! You’re drunk too.”

“Not too drunk to find Zack!”

Luke steals away while they’re arguing. He needs to toss his jacket into the bedroom Rian had indicated earlier before he gets anything to drink, so he squeezes past people until he reaches the makeshift coat room. To his surprise, when he pushes the door open, the room’s not empty.

“Michael?” Luke says, surprised. Michael is sitting on the bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks up when Luke says his name. “What are you doing in here?”

Michael shrugs. “Taking advantage of the quiet?” he says. That makes sense. Michael’s not really a party person, contrary to popular belief; he doesn’t love crowds unless they’re at concerts, and he prefers clamor to be under his control. Once he’s got a few drinks in him he loosens up, but it’s pretty clear Michael had come straight here, bypassing the kitchen entirely.

“Fair enough,” Luke says, tossing his jacket past Michael. It lands with a soft thump on the pile. “Well, I’m gonna grab a drink, if you want anything?”

Michael’s gaze keeps moving around the room, side to side and up and down, and finally he slides off the bed, pocketing his phone, and approaches Luke. “I’m okay,” he says, slowing to a stop just in front of Luke. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, though, but you’re standing under mistletoe.”

Luke looks upward where, as promised, a bough of mistletoe hangs mockingly above his head. Then he looks back at Michael, who’s watching his expression, and quickly he schools it into something acceptable, something light and airy. “Fuck. So I am.”

“Well,” Michael says, dry, “we can’t break the mistletoe rules. Especially not at the Gaskarth house.”

Michael is being easygoing about it, so Luke decides he’s going to be easygoing as well. “Of course,” he says, swallowing thickly and hoping that Michael won’t feel the racing of his heartbeat when they touch. “It would be impolite.”

Michael inclines his head in agreement. He doesn’t point out that there’s nobody around to hold them to it, that nobody is watching and nobody _cares_ if they kiss; he doesn’t say that mistletoe is just a cheesy game, not a binding contract to those beneath it. He doesn’t say _we don’t have to._

Which is good, because if he did, Luke wouldn’t have a good comeback. That’s true. They _don’t_ have to. 

And yet.

And yet still Michael’s stepping close enough that their noses almost touch, reaching up to cradle Luke’s face, feather-light fingertips grazing Luke’s jaw. Luke tenses so he doesn’t melt. He waits, feeling frozen in the moment, but Michael doesn’t close the gap, and a frisson of anticipation shoots down Luke’s spine. The space between them is nearly nonexistent and Luke _wants,_ but there’s something so full and electric about this moment right now, just before. They don’t ever take the time to appreciate it, when they’re fucking around. It’s hasty, most of the time, and Luke thinks he’s never in his life felt like this, and he’s torn violently between wanting to stay in it for the rest of his life and wanting to crush their mouths together, hungry and deliberate.

“Awful tease, you are,” Luke breathes, when Michael does nothing. Michael’s gaze flits around Luke’s face, catching on his eyes for long enough to give just a hint of a smile. Then it falls to Luke’s mouth, and just when Luke is thinking he’s going to have to take charge here or else combust, Michael leans in, ever so gently, and kisses Luke sweetly on the lips.

Luke tilts his head into it, this move they’ve executed maybe hundreds of times before. Hopefully Michael won’t remember that it’s mistletoe. Hopefully he forgets to break away. Luke curves his palm over Michael’s cheek, and Michael is warm, and this kiss is warm, and Luke feels warm just being in Michael’s presence. If Michael is a sunbeam, Luke basks; he doesn’t want to stop, not any of it. He wants to be around Michael all the time. He wants this kiss to last forever. He wants a free pass to kiss Michael whenever.

Michael finally pulls away, agonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses on Luke’s lips as if stopping is too great a tragedy to consider, and Luke can’t even find it in himself to pretend that he disagrees. He’s no help breaking the kiss, leaning in when Michael retreats, swiping the pad of his thumb over Michael’s cheekbone until Michael has to take a real step back, severing the connection at every point. Luke drops his hand to his side; his face feels cold without Michael’s touch.

“Not bad for a Christmas kiss,” Michael says quietly, swinging his arm a moment. Luke’s overwhelmed with the urge to grab it. They could just hold hands. It wouldn’t be the first time. Then Michael shoves his hand in his pocket, and Luke does the same with his own because lately he can’t figure out what to do with his hands when they’re not on Michael. There’s a trace of something unreadable in Michael’s voice, and trepidation crawls all over Luke as he tries to figure out what it is.

He swallows. “Let no one say that we don’t obey the mistletoe laws,” is what he says, and gives Michael a hesitant grin. Michael reflects it back to him, and Luke sees just how much uncertainty it’s painted in. “So, uh I’m gonna get something to drink,” he continues, feeling all of a sudden like he’s talking through a thick sheet of glass, speaking underwater; sometime between starting that kiss and ending it, he and Michael had fallen out of sync, and now there’s no hope for them understanding each other. “Sure you don’t want —?”

Michael shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m gonna run to the toilet. See you around the party.” He lifts a hand in an overly casual farewell and disappears before Luke can say anything more.

Luke sags back against the doorframe, tipping his head backwards. He knows what went wrong, and he knows it’s his fault, because he’s the one who broke the rules. It was meant to be casual, a favor — he can remember Michael’s voice proposing it, _we can help each other out,_ Luke pointing out _we’re friends,_ outlining the conditions for the arrangement — and it’s Luke who’d fucked it up, but he thought he’d had it under control. Relatively speaking.

But obviously not.

The problem is that Michael kisses Luke like they’re in love, when Luke knows they aren’t. Michael touches Luke like Luke is the only person in the world, and Luke knows that’s not how they are, or what this is. He falls apart with Michael’s hands on him, under the promise that Michael will always put him back together, and he does, invariably. Eyes closed to the world, when the only thing Luke knows is Michael, it can be easy to forget that how Luke _feels_ is not what is _true._ They’re not in love, or at least Michael isn’t. 

It’s just Luke.

Michael probably knows now, though. That’s where they’d misstepped; it’s Luke’s fault for being too obvious, growing clumsy. They’re so reliably on the same page that it feels sickening to think they aren’t right now. Luke suddenly wants to leave, Christmas party be damned. There’s no reason to stay here, nothing worth staying for. He could drink, planned to, although he’s sure that will lead to stupid mistakes, and Luke’s already cashed in on those tonight.

He counts to ten, takes a deep breath, and then slinks away from the coat room towards the kitchen. Somehow he knows he won’t be seeing Michael the rest of the night, and that alone is enough to make Luke reach for a cup and fill it to the brim with eggnog (helpfully labeled _A LOT OF WHISKEY IN THIS ONE)._

“Damn,” says a voice, and Luke looks up and sees Zack, watching him with an amused expression. “The hell happened?”

“How come something had to happen?” Luke says defensively, swallowing down a big gulp of eggnog. It burns going down — whoever had spiked this hadn’t been messing around. “It’s Christmas. Maybe I just want to get wasted.”

“Oh, just your face,” Zack says. Luke scowls. “I mean, it’s fine. If you’re drinking to forget your problems, I’m not going to be the one to stop you. I’ve been there.”

Luke gives him a grateful smile. He’s always liked Zack. Also, he recognizes that Zack could easily say _it doesn’t work_ or _it’s not smart_ or _it’s a very short-term fix that solves nothing in the long run,_ and he appreciates that Zack is keeping it to himself. “Thanks,” he says. 

Zack takes a delicate sip from his own cup. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Luke says curtly. That’s unfair to Zack, though. “Sorry, but — no. I just really want to drink a lot.”

Zack allows this with a nod. “Fair enough.”

A memory from earlier in the evening surfaces. “Hey, did Alex find you? I think he was looking for you.”

“What? Why?”

“Jack wanted to set up the karaoke machine.”

“Oh,” Zack says darkly. “I should probably go handle that, then.”

“Probably,” Luke agrees. Unhelpfully, he adds, “Jack’s hammered.”

“I know,” Zack says. “I have to keep away from him or he’ll try to feel me up.” He smiles fondly to himself as he says it. Luke thinks about how cute Zack and Jack are, how cute Alex and Rian are, how cute Calum and Ashton are. He wants to sink into the floor and cry. Why does Luke have to be the odd one out? What higher power did he offend? Doesn’t he get a bandmate to be in love with, too?

Zack pats him on the back. “Drink water!” he adds just before he goes, leaving Luke alone in the kitchen. Luke downs the rest of the eggnog, closes his eyes and opens them, and succumbs to the ache in his chest for the moment. It’ll be gone soon enough. It’s Christmas, and Luke’s going to get fucking wasted.

  
  


+1.

They’re home for New Year's. 

It’s jarring, to be torn from the freezing cold December of the United States and thrown back into the humid summertime of Sydney, and torn from each other all at once. Well, they’re not torn, so much; they part with hugs and farewells and promises to keep in touch during their short break, and Luke figures it’s definitely for the best anyway, because while he and Michael have been talking just fine, nothing more has happened between them, and Luke knows it’s because of him, but he’s still frustrated.

If Michael is trying to protect him, he should know better. Luke doesn’t want protection. And if Michael feels weird now that he knows, well. Well, fuck him, in that case — he should talk to Luke if that’s what’s going on. Anyway, he can’t _know,_ not for sure, not beyond guessing, and maybe Luke had been obvious but he’s pretty sure he could explain it away if only Michael would _talk_ to him about it, but Michael doesn’t, and Luke won’t break first. He can’t seem desperate, and he doesn’t want Michael to think he only likes him for the sex, because that’s the farthest thing from the truth.

Now he’s home, though, properly at home with his mum and dad. Jack had gone out to a New Year's party an hour ago, and Ben to a different one, but Luke is happy to spend New Year's with his parents. He’s missed them, being on tour; he always misses them, so it’ll be nice to be with them for this. He’d missed them for Christmas, so this is what they’d agreed on anyway, and Luke is happy with it. He’s pretty sure he’s moved past the stage where he’s expected to hate his parents, which is for the best, because he really loves them.

The band group chat has been sporadically alive, mostly Calum and Ashton sending pictures of each other and various of the other’s family members. The latest is a picture of Mali-Koa, mouth open, mid-scream but clearly one of glee, with Harry hanging off her neck. Luke giggles at it. _real ladies man,_ he sends to the group.

 _i will kill you,_ Ashton replies. Luke laughs.

“Luke, come on, put it away,” his mum chides. She taps his knee twice, and Luke sighs and sets his phone down beside him. “Go on and make the popcorn, yeah?” They’re watching _Groundhog Day_ , which isn’t a tradition yet because they’ve only done it two years and not in a row, but it might become one if they keep it up, and Luke’s parents are insistent. Luke doesn’t mind _Groundhog Day._ And it’s not as if he’s got anything better to be doing on New Year's, since the band all kind of agreed to spend it with their families, having just spent Christmas more or less together. 

It’s making Luke feel a little sad, in ways he can’t describe, that Calum and Ashton are together despite that, while he’s home alone, but he’s trying to stay positive. He gets to be home, in his own house, with his mum and dad, both of whom he hasn’t seen in who knows how many months. Positive. There’s a cozy blanket calling his name as soon as he’s finished making the popcorn, and _Groundhog Day_ really isn’t such a bad movie.

Luke’s pretty sure Michael likes _Groundhog Day,_ but that’s not a positive thought, so he stubbornly sets it aside.

“I’m always working for this family,” he says now to his mum, sighing dramatically as he stands. “I come home from tour and it’s straight to work. Where’s the gratitude? Where’s the love?”

“In the kitchen,” his dad says, swatting at his hand, which is the only thing he can reach from the couch. “Longer you take, the later we start the movie.”

Luke makes a face, but he proceeds to the kitchen anyway, pulling out the packet of popcorn and tossing it in the microwave. He’s not sure why he’s responsible for this task, or, frankly, why they trust him with it, _knowing_ his propensity for culinary failure, but whatever. It’s easy enough.

His phone vibrates while he’s waiting for the microwave countdown to reach zero. Luke checks it, figuring it’ll be a picture from Ashton of Calum flipping the camera off, or something. Instead it’s Michael, and Luke has already opened it by the time he realizes it’s not from the group. This one is to Luke alone, and it says: _hey are you busy?_

Luke bites his lip. _why?_ he replies. He is busy, but he could make himself not-busy. If Michael asks him to, he will.

 _can i talk to you?_ Michael asks.

Luke stares at it for a minute. The microwave beeps, jolting him violently enough that his phone falls out of his hand. “Fucking hell,” he mutters. He snatches up his phone, sends back _yeah when?_ , and then pockets it to take the popcorn out of the microwave. He still needs to make another, so sets the finished popcorn on the counter and puts the new packet into the microwave, restarting the process.

By the time he’s gone through the motions, Michael has answered. _right now outside?_

Luke almost drops his phone again. _two minutes_ , he says, glancing at the popcorn, and then shifts impatiently on his feet. Every single possible scenario races through his mind and he tries to ignore them, because Michael hasn’t said what he wants to talk about, and it could be anything, literally anything. It probably won’t be, but it could be. And whatever it is, Luke is certain it won’t be what he’s expecting, so he shouldn’t try to guess, but two minutes is a long time to wait, and by the time the microwave beeps again he’s so on edge that it makes him jump even though he’s watching the numbers as they hit zero. He resolves to get them a new microwave with a less alarming noise.

When he returns to the living room, armed with the popcorn, he hands off a bag to each of his parents, then says, “Um, Michael’s outside, he wants to talk about something — like, with the band. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“He couldn’t have just called?” his mum says, but Luke can tell she’s teasing. “Alright, but don’t take too long or the popcorn will get cold.”

“Yeah, okay,” Luke says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He turns and moves on autopilot out the front door, nerves crackling on the surface of his skin like electricity. It’s just Michael. For better or for worse, it’s just Michael, just Luke’s best friend Michael, and if there’s something wrong, they can work through it. They can. They have to.

Or Luke’s not sure what he’ll do.

As soon as he’s down the front steps he stalls. Michael’s here, hands tucked in his pockets, pacing; when he sees Luke he, too, stops walking, and for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other.

“Hey,” Michael says.

“Hey,” Luke says.

Michael comes nearer. In the dusk, shadows are thrown across his face, but as he gets closer Luke can see the green of his eyes, can feel the way this space between them grows greater the more Michael approaches. They should hug, but they don’t. Luke shifts on his feet.

“Um,” Michael says, “I just wanted to talk to you before the new year starts, because — I don’t know. Clean slate and all that.”

Luke digs his teeth into his lip. “Okay.”

Michael pulls his hands out of his pockets. He pulls one through his hair and then puts them both back in his pockets, and Luke is pretty sure he’s never seen Michael like this with a another person before, to the point that if Luke weren’t behaving in much the same way he wouldn’t be able to identify what it is: nerves. Michael’s nervous.

“Cool, okay, well.” Michael swallows hard. “I guess I should start by apologizing. It’s my fault — I mean, this is really all my fault, because it was my idea. The whole…thing we had.” He gestures jerkily between them. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. I wanted — I don’t know. Um, but I just…I know this is the kind of thing that ruins friendships, but I feel like we can get past it? I hope? You’re my best friend, I mean, one of them, so, like. I really hope so.”

“Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke says, frowning.

Michael takes a deep breath. “I really like you,” he says quickly, kicking at the path underfoot. “So, um, I think we should probably stop, you know. Sleeping together. Because it’s not really…fair, I guess, to either of us.”

Luke's heart stops. Then it kicks back up, beating twice as fast to make up for the one it had missed, but it's too late; Luke's all thrown off. “No, no, no,” he says breathlessly, and Michael gives him a look of confusion. “How can you like me? I thought — I didn’t think — fuck, I mean I like you too, Michael. I mean, fuck, I’m in love with you, probably.” Too late, he realizes that’s far too much of a confession, but Michael’s face lights up in the dark, and Luke wouldn’t take it back.

“Seriously?” Michael says. “I thought — I don’t know.”

“I thought you knew,” Luke says. “The — the kiss, at Alex’s.”

“But that was just mistletoe. You were making jokes, I thought…”

Luke scrubs a hand over his face. He feels a smile crack the edges of his mouth. Michael’s face is doing much the same. “Yeah, because I was so, like, into you. I thought you figured me out.”

“Oh my God,” Michael says, shaking his head. He’s well and truly smiling now. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hey, you’re an idiot! You propositioned _me._ You _knew_ you liked me and you still offered.”

Michael tilts his head. “I was in love with you too, you moron. I still am, I’ve been in love with you for a really embarrassingly long time. When — since when are you?”

“Since the baseball game,” Luke says timidly. “I don’t know why, it just hit me.”

“Jesus,” Michael says. “That was — that was, like, months ago.”

“I know, but. Fucking hell.” Michael is close but not close enough, and suddenly Luke feels like he’ll never be close enough, that they might never make up for lost time but they might as well start trying. “I need to kiss you, right now.”

Michael’s fervent, “Okay,” is swallowed up by Luke pulling him close. And even though for all intents and purposes this kiss should be just like all their other ones, it’s so much better that Luke doesn’t think he’ll ever find the words for it. He’s never kissed Michael knowing what he knows now, and all he can think is _Michael’s in love with me,_ working its way under his skin, settling close to his heart like a talisman, as Michael’s hands cup his jaw and his mouth moves against Luke’s, warm and familiar and new and full of promise. The electricity from Michael’s touch steals over his skin, and Luke gasps when they part, forehead against Michael’s.

“Bad timing,” Michael says, smiling crookedly. Luke fights to catch his breath. Somehow he’d managed to forget the way kissing Michael leaves him struggling for air.

“Huh?”

“It’s not midnight yet,” Michael murmurs, dragging his nails lightly across Luke’s cheek. Luke shivers. “New Year's.”

Luke has to take a moment to process. “Oh,” he says dazedly. He blinks several times; Michael knows what he’s doing, and it's not very nice of him to be this distracting, but Luke really can't find it in himself to tell Michael to stop. “Well,” he says, “I wouldn’t really call any of this conventional, or good timing at all.”

“That’s fair,” Michael concedes, and with a cheeky smile he steals a final kiss before stepping back. “Okay, go back to your movie night. I have to go anyway, my mum’s already gonna kill me, I didn’t tell her I was leaving.”

Luke laughs. “Happy New Year, then, Mikey.”

Michael’s face softens. “Happy New Year, Luke.” As he retreats, walking backwards down the path back to his car, he adds, “And what a happy one it’s going to be, I can tell.”

Luke watches him go, standing on the front steps until the headlights disappear from view like some kind of lovesick teenager, and he can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!! so in conclusion happy birthday iba i love you a WHOLE fuckton of a lot. meanwhile i myself do in fact frequent tumblr so you can come say hey [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) where i will most likely be eating goldfish at 3:45am the way i am doing right now :))) lots of love to everyone now i have to go do the reading that i put off to finish this fic lmao byeeeeeee


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